Lost
by Madcat-88
Summary: Pre-G1. A neutral has a brief encounter with a couple of seekers.


Lost  
  
Contraband had had a miserable day: the deal he'd been trying to set up fell through; his route home had been blown up some time earlier; he was lost; his tires shredded by abandoned anti-autobot defences. It hadn't been like this before the war. He'd been somebody then. Wouldn't have been running his own errands. Wouldn't have been lost in some Primus forsaken section of the neutral territories. Would have had guards with him. The war had changed all that. There was no market for staged violence, and most of his enforcers, the miserable glitches, had joined the 'cons. Grumbling and cursing, Contraband continued to pick his way through the ruins of Cybertron.  
  
Breems later, Contraband was standing on the edge of an express-way, attempting to compare the desolation around him with navigational data dredged up from cold-storage, "So if that's Darkmount, and that's the spaceport, I ..." he'd been thinking aloud, attempting to ignore some incoherent shouting in the distance. Incoherent shouting that was getting closer.  
  
His train of thought de-railed for the umpteenth time, Contraband spun around and yelled, "Primus's sake, I'm trying to think." His bravado faded as the shouters, a pair of seekers leaning on each other, stumbled into view, fell silent and started weaving towards him.  
  
Watching them approach, he realised with growing dread that there was something familiar about them. It wasn't just that they were seekers. No, he knew these two. Though why, he couldn't recall. A desperate look around revealed a lack of both escape routes and aid, then they were in front off him, optics too bright, movements fast and jerky: obviously over-energised.  
  
Aiming one of his arm cannons in Contraband's general direction, the black one stated: "We were singing." The blue, who'd been staring at him as if he were a rust-spot added, "Like to see you do better." An optic cracked and Contraband stumbled backwards as black jabbed him in the face with the muzzle of his weapon. "Go on, we're waiting."  
  
"Huh. Doesn't want to sing," blue sounded disappointed, but cheered up as he continued, "maybe he'll dance."  
  
"Yeah, good idea," agreed black, as both seekers took a step back and fired experimentally around Contraband's feet. Their aim was off. He yelped in pain as several blasts hit his legs and penetrated the armour. Internal diagnostics reported severe structural damage. Having just collapsed in a heap, Contraband decided the information was redundant.  
  
"Think we broke him." black sounded despondent. Staring up at them, Contraband blurted, "Look, this is a mistake! You can't do this to me!" Neither seeker responded, but their arrogant stares spoke volumes. Desperately Contraband tried another tack, "Look... we can deal right? Escort me to Tyrest, I'll pay you."  
  
Looking amused, black tapped the emblem on blue's wing, eliciting a wince from the latter, and said slowly, as if giving orders to a particularly stupid drone: "We're De-cep-ti-cons."  
  
Contraband's optics dimmed as he realised that he had nothing to offer them. Pre-war currency was worthless. Energon, spares and ammunition were the new wealth; Decepticons the nouveau rich.  
  
Prodding him with a foot, blue asked, "Can you fly?" Despite his fear and the pain from his shattered legs, Contraband still found it in himself to be angered by the blatant stupidity of the question. Couldn't they see he transformed into a ground vehicle? "Wha? What does that have to do with anything?" Adopting black's 'speaking to drones' tone, blue asked again, "Can. You. Fly?"   
  
At his wits end and desperate for life, Contraband tried honesty: "N-no?"  
  
Blue shook his head sadly and replied, "Pity."  
  
Walking away from the smoking chassis, one of the seekers asked, "Where were we?" to which the other replied, "Who cares? Once more from the top."  
  
"What do you do with a cratered Seeker?  
  
What do you do with a cratered Seeker?  
  
What do you do with a cratered Seeker?  
  
Ear-ly in the morning?"  
  
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Authors notes  
  
'What do you do with a cratered seeker' is by HSBacklash01, archived on www.lexicon.tf and used with permission.  
  
This short fits into a longer story I'm working on, but would break up the narrative too much if included. Basically, it was entertaining to write, but has no place in the story it's part of.  
  
It's set long before G1, sometime after the third Cybertronian war has kicked off. Characters can be assumed to have a look close to their War Within designs. 


End file.
